


Old Sweaters

by Ineffable_Sehnsucht



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Retirement, Sussex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24844285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_Sehnsucht/pseuds/Ineffable_Sehnsucht
Summary: This is likely the fluffiest thing I have ever written and also not beta'd. Sorry... I also wrote this at like 3 in the morning.Anyway,  it's Sussex and cold and Watson thinks about growing old and watches Holmes.Russian Translation Available
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Old Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> A) I just got back into the canon/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for the first time since I was a kid. So please excuse any inaccuracies or deviations. Not that there are any in this fic.  
> B) I honestly can't remember the last time I wrote fics or just wrote a story in general. So forgive me if it's not the greatest.  
> C) I wrote and uploaded this on my phone so, if the formatting is off that's why. I haven't touched my laptop in 3 weeks and don't really care to now.  
> D) And lastly, this was inspired by the photos from the lost beekeeping footage from the Granada series, wherein Holmes has a large sweater draped over his shoulders.

It was nearing the end of autumn in our Sussex cottage. The winter months were upon us and it was growing rather cold outside. Although we made sure to have plenty of wood stocked for hearty fires, it did not always stop the cold seeping in my bones making my old wounds ache.

It took a few months but, Holmes settled into retirement rather well. Actually, better than I had expected but, then this had been his idea. He has more time for research and experiments. Occasionally, he will take up a case in a nearby village during the warmer months. Of course, he also has his bees to tend to.

Holmes currently sat cross-legged on the rug by the dying fire surrounded by books and papers. He is writing another monograph. On what, he had not revealed to me yet. I'm sure in time he will, as I will likely be asked to read it.

He must be colder than usual as he is wrapped in that ratty, ugly blanket I have so often seen him wear upon his shoulders. I watch him as he struggles to keep it out of his way as writes furiously. He fails each time. His eyes grow irritated and hard because the blanket falls right back into the place from which he removes it. It must have happened one too many times. He flings it off completely and it lands behind him on the floor.

Underneath, he is wearing a sweater. One that seems slightly too large and a little short in the arms. It looks familiar but, I don't think twice. I decide it is the perfect time to drink some brandy. The effects of a good brandy have a lovely warming effect on the body and would do good for the both of us. I rise from my cozy chair and pour two hearty glasses. It takes a moment to gain his attention upon my return. He smiles softly up at me and accepts the drink, grateful for it.

I take my place back on my comfy chair and sip my brandy. It does wonders to warm me up but does nothing to help my shoulder. The fire is starting to die out but, I am reluctant to head to bed without Holmes. He would sit there all night (or as long as he could stay awake) if I left to bed early without him so, often I stay up with him when he becomes distracted as he is now. This method guarantees he sets aside his work to sleep each night. If I fall asleep in my chair, he wakes me and ensures I make it to bed. I'm not as young as I used to be and with added war wounds I can no longer sleep in odd places without hurting upon waking.

My shoulder pains and reminds me that I'm still chilled. I dearly want to sit next to Holmes on the floor by the fire but, I am all too well aware I will have great trouble getting to my feet after. Going down is becoming easier than getting up these days. Since I know I will be up for a few hours more, I decide to find my old sweater. It was one gifted to me by our dear, late Mrs. Hudson one Christmas.

Without another glance, I head to our room. I rummage through the wardrobe and bureau but, there is no sign of my favorite sweater. The brown one with black elbow patches. I know it's been quite sometime since I last wore it, though I am quite sure I would not have rid of it.

I give up and decide that tattered old blanket will have to work instead. When I reach the living room, my eyes set up on Sherlock immediately. I realize he's been wearing my sweater this whole time and currently has the neck pulled over his nose as if he has experienced a foul smelled and is trying his best to block it. Though his expression in his eyes states otherwise. His eyes are closed and he takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the knitted yarn. A relaxed and comforted look settles on his beautiful aging face.

I cannot help the wide grin or the urge to go to him. When I reach him, stepping carefully though a minefield of papers and discarded books, he is looking up at me with a smile of his own.

I deliver a tender kiss to his forehead and he sighs.

"Do you always steal my clothes?"

"Only when you are gone."

"I was not gone today," I state, helping him up from the floor.

"I thought I might get away with it," he groans.

His knees creak and he grasps at his bad knee when it pops.

"I think you shall have to give up sitting on the floor soon," I say softly.

He shot me a glare.

"Stubborn ol' mule," I mutter.

"I'm your stubborn ol' mule," he smirks.

"Because I'm the only one who will put up with you."

He rolls his eyes at me and squeezes the hand he is still holding.

"Bed," he asks.

"Giving up early?"

I'm surprised.

"I think there are better ways to spend this evening."

There is that mischievous twinkle in his eyes again.

"An infinitely better way of warming up and taking care of your aches."

He is already walking to our room with me behind him; my hand still in his.

Although we never got to the activity that set off the twinkle in his eyes, the massage did wonders. His hot hands upon my shoulders and back felt wonderous. As we laid entwined, his head to my chest and legs tangled, I could not help but feel happy. Every day in this cottage is a blessing.

My hand found it's way underneath his chin and I imbued a kiss, with all the love I could muster, to his lips.

I felt him smile. When the kiss broke, his head returned to my chest, listening to my heart beat. For a time I thought he'd fallen asleep and then his voice broke through the silence in a whisper.

"I love you too, John."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not sure if I will write more for these two but, if an idea strikes maybe I will.  
> If you would like to find me elsewhere, I'm on tumblr at koalasmashedoneucalyptus


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